


c, c, c (it all melds together)

by dingdongmyeong



Category: ONEWE (Band), The Unit: Idol Rebooting Project (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst/Horror, Other, it was meant to be more angsty and sad but i made it scary oops oops, please be careful reading this, slightly inspired by the babadook, this is just something I wrote quickly;;, tw: unidentified mental illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 04:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15878820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dingdongmyeong/pseuds/dingdongmyeong
Summary: He slouched slightly, placing a single, delicate finger on the white key.C, C, C, C. He plays the same note over and over again, hoping to wake up the members who slept so they could save him from those shadows. Or, perhaps, he was hoping to wake up something inside of him; a tiny bright sliver of the love he used to feel for the disgusting old piano at which he was sitting, so that the smile he‘d plastered on didn’t seem so fake.





	c, c, c (it all melds together)

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! this was my first attempt at angst;; clearly it took more of a horror turn but i hope you enjoy it anyways?

…

He hadn’t slept for days. At this point, he’d lost count of the all-nighters he’d pulled, trying to scrounge together any kind of motivation. Not just for music, either, but to even do anything. 

He crumpled before the wooden piano in the practice room, slamming his head into his hands. A shaky sigh escaped his lips, and he shut his eyes. The lights were off. Everyone was gone. And yet, why did he still feel the need to hold his feelings in?

For his fans, of course. He never knew if they were watching. They had eyes everywhere. He saw what they said. Son Dongmyeong, the  _ cure to depression _ . The  _ nation’s sunshine _ . The  _ one everyone loved _ ,  _ and wanted to love. _

Now, wasn’t that a laugh?

A twisted grin morphed his lips. He bit his lip painfully to hold in the bitter chuckle he was about to let out. His hands trembling, he picked at his hairline ever so slightly, just to have a feeling, any feeling at all. It hurt, but who cared?

Nobody, of course. Not his members, not his manager, not his brother group, and certainly not the public. Oh no,  _ certainly not _ the public. Those people who stared at their screens and got entranced by the pretty faces and smooth choreography, while ignoring those who really needed the exposure.

Sixteenth. He ended up in sixteenth. That bitter number would be ingrained into his mind forever. Miles above fifty-fourth, or fifty-ninth, or sixty-first,  _ god forbid,  _ but a crushing low. A disgusting number that might as well have been sixty-third. The outcome was the same, for all he cared. Fade back into obscurity, be remembered as that one kid in a band, move on. He twitched.

Of course, he couldn’t show this disgust, this disappointment, this  _ depression.  _ The public might not have cared, but his fans did. His fans had eyes everywhere. He was always being watched. He had to be happy for their sake. So he put a grin on his face and congratulated the winners, like he was meant to. Like his fans expected him to.

_ They’re here. _

Broken out of his reverie, he whipped his head up, away from the cradle of his hands.  _ They’re here. They’re here. They’re here.  _ It was an alarm, a deafening siren created by his mind. Drying his tears, he dared not turn behind him. The fans were watching; he could feel their burning eyes on his back. Stretching his lips into an ear-splitting grin, he let out a strained chuckle from in between his teeth.

“Hi, everyone,” he started airily. There was no reply. He heaved another laugh. Straightening his posture, he looked right ahead.  _ They’re watching. _

“Would you like me to play you a tune?” He asked, no shyness in his tone. The fans behind him did not speak, only stared. He took his as a confirmation and tried to grin even wider. It was only for them.

He slouched slightly, placing a single, delicate finger on the white key.

C, C, C, C. He plays the same note over and over again, hoping to wake up the members who slept so they could save him from those shadows. Or, perhaps, he was hoping to wake up something inside of him; a tiny bright sliver of the love he used to feel for the disgusting old piano at which he was sitting, so that the smile he’d plastered on didn’t seem so fake.

With every note he played, the shadows’ glares seemed less and less intense. They were satisfied. He was being perfect, like always. They liked when he was perfect. That meant they could stop watching. He grinned so wide it hurt, he straightened so much his whole body was clenched, and he kept playing those ringing notes, in a steady order.

Second by second, he felt the glares lessen, until they were finally gone. And even then, he kept playing until the wee hours of the morning. Because they were never truly gone.

His fans had eyes everywhere.  _ They were always watching. _

_ … _


End file.
